


Modern Art

by Kay (sincere)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Artist!Steve, Gen, Improv, Silly, Underwear?!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:45:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincere/pseuds/Kay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve liked Pepper, so doing her a favor by saving her from herself is not even a question. It turns out she's not as straitlaced and no-nonsense as he thought she was, though. He might have to hesitate a little more in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Modern Art

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt on fic_promptly community on Dreamwidth: "Steve does not get performance art".

Steve watched her pack up her files into a neat folder that fit precisely in her leather briefcase, and fold her computer up into a slim line and slip it away into another pocket of the briefcase. Her phone went into another pocket, her wallet into another, and then Pepper slung the strap of the messenger bag over her shoulder. Her entire life and career packed up neatly, taking up about as much space as Steve's sketchpad.

"Ready for a night out?" she asked him, a warm smile taking her features.

"Yeah." He matched her smile, but it seemed like a wast that she traveled so lightly but would get into a private car that would take her all around a city that was already connected by perfectly good transportation. Steve said to her suddenly, "Let's take the subway."

Pepper lifted her eyebrows. "...Take the subway?"

He shrugged and gave her a slightly more awkward grin. "It's kind of a shame, isn't it? Being so isolated from the pulse of the city? Join us lower-class folk for a night."

" _Captain America_ is telling _me_ to join the lower-class folk," she observed, bemused. "Wow, I really have made it in the world, haven't I?"

Steve lifted a hand, waving at the door. "Nearest subway entrance is just two blocks from here," he teased. "All you have to do is lead the way."

She chuckled, and took a few steps forward, and then stopped again. Her forehead briefly screwed up with thought, and then she glanced at Steve again, lifting her eyebrows. "You want to take the subway today, of all days?"

"Why?" He was surprised by the question. It shouldn't have been closed, or operating on any sort of delay... There wasn't a holiday...

"January 13th?" Pepper asked, leadingly. Steve shook his head, unenlightened. "2013? In New York City?"

Steve informed her, "I'm aware of the year. Care to tell me what's so special about January 13th, 2013?"

After a beat, Pepper only smiled. "Well, now we have to go. So you can see for yourself."

Then she was in motion, heading briskly down the hallway and to the elevator. She had a long, efficient stride, so Steve had to move with the same sense of purpose to keep up with her, which he was unaccustomed to. It was a Sunday and so few people were in the building, putting in extra hours or working the deserted weekend shifts. Steve had been sent as a favor from Tony (his words; "assignment" had been Tony's) to make sure Pepper wasn't working herself to death. She was that rare but familiar kind of woman with a sense of duty far stronger than her desire to have a personal life, who would put in countless hours whether or not it was expected of her and allow no excuses. Steve had a soft spot for her, and so he had been happy to go to her office and insist on keeping her company for the afternoon.

"Do you know much about performance art, Steve?" she asked.

Steve cocked his head, glancing at Pepper sidelong. "You mean, like theater?"

Pepper smiled, hitting the button for the elevator; it opened instantly. One of the perks of being the CEO was an elevator always at your disposal, apparently. "No, not theater. Performance art. I suppose it's sort of a -- modern idea."

He followed her, admitting, "Never heard of it. I guess it was after my time." And then he shrugged. "Unless it involves a sketchpad and a pencil, it's probably not my kind of art."

"I don't think that's true," Pepper disagreed. "After all, you went to an art college, didn't you?" At Steve's surprised glance, she admitted, "I might have borrowed Tony's profiles on everyone."

It was probably nothing she couldn't find out on the internet, anyway, he figured; he didn't know for himself, couldn't work computers all that well yet, but from what he had learned, more or less anything could be found on the internet, anyone who had ever been a fan of anything stored all their knowledge of it there. History, said Natasha; news, said Bruce; cats, said Clint; porn, said Tony.

"Yeah, well. I wasn't that good a student," was his comment.

They headed out into the street, hiking to the subway entrance in the brisk winter air. Winter in New York was still much the same as Steve remembered it: all crisp gray skies and bitter cold air and bleak dark buildings. The particulars were somewhat changed -- the streets jam-packed with cars in bright colors, lined up neatly; the people moving at an aggressive pace with heads bowed wrapped in nylon jackets with polyester fillings instead of the old-fashioned wool that he remembered -- but the city still made him feel at home.

Until he went down the familiar subway entrance at East 45th Street and Park Avenue and found himself waiting at the turnstile with a young woman reading a map, dressed in a fleece jacket, gloves, boots, and nothing else.

One look at the frilly underpants she had on beneath the jacket's hem and Steve desperately looked away, flushing. Pepper caught his glance and asked mildly, "Something wrong?"

"No," Steve said firmly. "Just -- that's an interesting poster. What's that for?"

Pepper looked up at it. "Macy's," she said, lifting her eyebrows. "Maybe you've heard of it? I'm pretty sure it's been around for... something like two hundred years."

"Not-- Not that one." Not any of them, really. Anything that wasn't frilly underpants. "That one," he said, pointing at it.

"Wow," she said, looking down. "That's the Big Bang Theory. It's a television program featuring that celebrates and mocks intelligent young people. I think -- everyone in the civilized world knows about it by now. Tony likes to put it on sometimes when he's drunk so he can explain why the main characters with doctorates that always make fun of the engineer are all going to end up working in coffee shops, while the engineer goes on to run a billion-dollar company... You know Tony."

He did know Tony, but more importantly, even if he had no idea what Pepper was referring to, he was at least not thinking about underpants.

They boarded the subway together and Steve led Pepper determinedly away from the young woman. He told himself that girls in this time period tended to wear very short pants, and that was probably what she had been wearing -- although why she would want to do it in subfreezing weather, he couldn't imagine. Pepper grabbed her briefcase more securely and pulled out her phone, asking him idly, "You know where we want to get off for the restaurant, right? You said Tony and Natasha would meet us there?"

Steve was going to answer her, but his attention was caught by a young man in shorts, standing next to another young man wearing almost as little as the young woman had been -- very short, tight shorts that were unmistakably boxer briefs.

He turned his head away, and caught sight of a group of girls who were, again, wearing nothing below the waist but shoes, socks, and panties: some plain, some with polka dots, some lacy. The men beyond them were in simple blue or white boxers, occasionally in black briefs.

The whole _train_ was full of people fully dressed, except for their pants.

Somehow it was more embarrassing than the dancing girls who had been dressed not very differently during his shows; at least there, the titillation was deliberate, the flirtation obvious and easy to read. Here, he was in public, casually surrounded by more unmentionables than he had ever seen in his _life_ , and no one but him even seemed to notice.

"Steve," Pepper said, gently.

He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut. What was happening? Was he dreaming? Was this -- a plot, somehow? "Please tell me you're still wearing your skirt," he said thinly.

"Uh, hmm. I think that is an _extremely_ inappropriate thing to say, Mr. Rogers."

If her voice hadn't been so light and teasing, he might have genuinely worried. But when he turned around to look at her she was grinning, and, thankfully, still fully dressed.

"Why aren't they wearing pants?" he hissed at her in an undertone.

"Maybe you should ask one of them," Pepper suggested, nonchalant as if she saw people every day riding the subway without pants.

The woman behind her offered blithely, "I forgot mine." She did not so much as blink at the admission.

Steve was genuinely at a loss, and looked around again, as if seeking to find a way out. He was finding it really difficult to get his footing again, every word and everywhere he looked throwing him more off-balance than before. But Pepper's hand was on his arm, and she was saying, "Steve, wait, I'm sorry," while not sounding terribly sorry. She was fighting off a laugh, visibly. "It's Improv Everywhere!"

" _What?_ "

"They're a performance art group. Every year in January they get together and do a pantsless subway ride in New York City."

Steve felt his jaw drop a little, and then he said, "This is supposed to be _art_?"

"I should have warned you," she managed, admirably pulling her straight face back together again. "But -- when you brought it up, it seemed like..."

"Seemed like?"

Pepper said, innocently, "Like a chance to broaden your artistic horizons."

He felt as if his horizons had been broadened considerably, it was true. He told her, very soberly, "I am not sure performance art is for me, Ms. Potts."

But the worst part, when he really thought about it, was definitely going to be getting to the restaurant, with Tony and Natasha there, and them having to hear the story of Steve's brush with pantsless subway ride art.


End file.
